


The Lion and the Wolf

by Tcharlatan



Category: Dir en grey, Sadie (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Anal Sex, Blood, Creepy, Demon Sex, Dreams, Gore, Immortality, M/M, Macabre Trophies, Masochism, Masturbation, Necrophilia, Presumed Dead, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Rough Sex, Tricksters, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:56:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tcharlatan/pseuds/Tcharlatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Die has a problem - an urge, a hunger, a sickness; whatever you want to call it - that he just can't control, and he gives in to it yet again. His latest prey, however, is not all that he appears.</p><p>(AU - no prior familiarity with character necessary)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of pure fiction. I do not personally know any of the members of Dir en Grey or Sadie, and do not profit from this work.
> 
> Also, please note that this fic is gross and horrible, and probably no one should read it.

Five o’clock rolled around with little preamble or fanfare, the end of the day creeping along just as the beginning and middle had. Terribly, maddeningly monotonous. And yet, this hour brought with it a ripple that ran through the massive room, passing over and through and between a maze of khaki cubicle walls to the interchangeable worker drones occupying each cell. The business day – and with it, the week – was over. Near the center of the room, within the confines of his own prosaic box, one of the workers saved his current project and shut down his computer for the weekend. White fluorescent lights flashed against wire-framed glasses and shimmered across dark chestnut hair pulled into a tidy ponytail as he stood, stretching the kinks of nine hours of sitting from his lanky form.

 _‘Ahh, finally! Freedom!_ ’

“Hey, Andou!” an over-cheerful voice called from Die’s left, and he glanced up briefly.

His neighbor was draped over the wall separating their cubicles, willowy arms hanging into his space. Die’s hackles rose at the casual invasion of his territory, but his mouth was already pulling into a friendly smile, a greeting spilling past in sociable tones. “Hey, what’s up?”

“We were going to hit the bar before heading home for the weekend, maybe do some karaoke! You in?”

It was a tempting offer. Not because Die had any interest in partying with his coworkers, but because this one in particular was almost distractingly attractive. Long-bodied, like himself, but not gawky; velvety black hair falling into smiling eyes, and a simply lovely mouth; possessed of a boyish charm somehow seamlessly fused to an inherently seductive, flirty nature. Even now, everything about his posture, his voice, and his expression held a ‘come hither’ sort of tone that seemed at once entirely ingenuous and wickedly implicative.

Acceptance was on the tip of Die’s tongue, but he caught himself. Toshimasa Hara wasn’t attracted to _him_. He was an inadvertent flirt with pretty much everyone – as was simply his way – and pity be to the fool who thought otherwise. Still, it almost hurt to refuse. “Sorry, not this time. I think I’m just going to go home and crash.”

_‘He’s just being friendly.’_

_‘Disgusting slut…’_

Pleasantries continued between them after that – Toshiya expressing his disappointment, Die reiterating his apologies, banal jokes and farewells bouncing back and forth as they packed up – but it all just registered as static buzz in Die’s ears. When he did manage to break away, his pace down the hall was unhurried, but he was seething with impatience inside. He needed to be out of this rat’s maze of an office building. Faceless coworkers called out goodbyes to him as he passed, and he flashed a beautiful smile to all of them as he responded with perfect congeniality, though he didn’t hear so much as a word any of them spoke. More mindless small talk as he waited for the elevators, then he was stepping onto the car, and focus returned when he found himself standing next to another enticing individual.

Sharp eyes, sharp mind, sharp tongue; Kaoru Niikura was attractive, without a doubt, but carried with him a sense of menace. An obsessive perfectionist in all things, he demanded nothing short of excellence from the employees under his supervision, and would ruthlessly drive them all to exhaustion in the persual of it. Superior and unyielding, Kaoru would be a challenge to get close to, but one had to wonder at the softer, more vulnerable or at least more human side that must dwell beneath the flawless outer shell.

“Andou,” Die’s boss greeted, coolly. “How is the analysis for the Tezuka account coming?”

Die’s hands flexed involuntarily, just the slightest bit, unnoticed as he bowed his head diffidently. “It will be ready by Wednesday as promised, Mr. Niikura.”

“Ah, wonderful. Excellent work, as always.”

Praise, offered as a biscuit to a dog. None of Die’s resentment showed in his smile or voice, affecting only graciousness when he responded, “Thank you, sir.”

_‘Doesn’t think about anything but work, does he?’_

_‘Cocky prick…’_

Kaoru gave a thin-lipped smile, and the only sound the rest of the way down was the mindless jingle of elevator music. The doors chimed and hissed open, releasing the dozen or so people within out into the lobby, and Die split free of the group to stop at the administration office on his way out. Sitting, prim and proper behind a neatly-organized desk, was his third and final craving. Shinya Terachi. Staggeringly, _untouchably_ beautiful, with an angel’s face and a shy laugh hidden always behind one elegantly long hand, he was the epitome of poise and propriety.

Safe enough to hit on, if only because - though surprisingly tolerant of flirtation - there was no real risk of success; the man was an ice-cold professional to the core.

Hearing his door open, he gave Die his customary reserved smile, absently tucking a stray lock of auburn hair behind one ear. “Good afternoon, Mr. Andou. Did you forget to log your hours again this week?”

Die flashed his sweetest grin, leaning his hip against the younger man’s desk. “Oh, you know I’ll take any excuse to come see you.”

Shinya was, as always, completely unruffled he typed. “Fifty hours as usual, I presume?”

Die gave an exaggerated sigh of long-suffering. “Sixty this week. Niikura’s _heartless!”_

“Well, I’ll make sure you’re at least paid for it.” More typing, then another empty, polite smile. “There we are, you’re all set. Anything else I can do for you today?”

A teasing wink as he straightened. “You can give me your phone number.”

“See you next Friday, Mr. Andou.”

“Haha, yeah, probably. Have a good weekend!”

_‘He probably thinks I’m joking with him.’_

_‘Stuck up bitch…’_

Die let the omnipresent mask of friendliness drop as he left the office, his features falling abruptly to cold detachment. He was haunted, even now; haunted by so much that he wanted to do, wanted to say, and the overwhelming pile of things that kept him still and silent – _forced_ him to swallow his urges when he was surrounded every day by temptations so sweet they made his mouth water. He shook his head to clear it and made his way out onto the street, heading towards the subway station. It didn’t help though; the thoughts didn’t leave. Restlessness was stirring in his belly and his fingers fidgeted endlessly at anything in reach; the buttons of his jacket, the strap of his messenger bag, the edges of his pockets. How long had it been…? Weeks? No… months? It felt like an eternity since he’d last reached out and found someone to fill that emptiness inside himself.

_‘Need…’_

_‘No… no, I’m fine, I’m-… nnnh…!’_

_‘I need…’_

He was almost shaking by the time his train pulled in, and he crammed himself into the overfilled car with a nagging sense of loathing for those around him. The doors hissed closed and he squeezed his eyes as tight as he could, trying to tune out the incessant press and buzz of humanity for the duration of the trip. Minutes ticked by excruciatingly slowly as they passed through stop after stop; fourteen of them, before he moved again to step off the train. A three-block walk, six stops on a city bus, and one more block on foot found him rushing down the half-flight of stairs to his apartment, tucked into a quiet corner on the bottom floor of his complex. He locked the door behind himself, kicking off his shoes and dumping his bag aside carelessly before hurrying to his bedroom and fishing out the small wooden chest he kept tucked in the darkest corner of his closet.

Carefully, almost reverently, he sat on his bed with the chest in front of him and unlocked it with a key from his wallet, sucking in a deep breath as its contents were revealed to him. A lock of pink hair. A lip ring on a thin chain connecting to an earring. A white nose band. So many odds and ends; mementos – _trophies –_ from his past conquests, and seeing them again, Die felt that familiar spark flare up in his lower belly. Releasing the breath in a slow shudder, he reached into the box, closing his eyes to immerse himself in the recollection of passion and pleasure as his fingers drifted over each prize in turn. Too long. It had been too long. Flashes in his mind; of straining, sweat-slicked bodies beneath his own, of hands grasping at him and voices crying out in desperation and need, of sinking himself into the warm embrace of another human being…

His wool slacks began to feel too constrictive and he moved his free hand to unzip them, pushing the top edge of his briefs down to free his hardening length. He knew it was sick but he couldn’t help it, the memories were simply too delicious. He wrapped his fingers around himself and began to pump, slowly at first, but faster and faster as memory shifted to fantasy and he imagined succumbing to his temptations. Toshiya’s shamelessness, deserving of punishment. Kaoru’s arrogance, _begging_ to be taken apart and broken. Shinya’s purity, so ready to be tarnished. Wrong – what he wanted – so wrong, _disgusting_ and yet all at once enthralling and Die moaned as he began to work at himself almost furiously, mentally undressing and defiling the beautiful bodies that haunted his days. They were out of bounds, he knew, but still constantly fanned the flames of his desire until he was consumed by madness.

Control began to slip and he grasped at the side of the wooden box with his free hand, wary of damaging any of his treasures as he bucked his hips up into his own fist. Flesh on flesh, heat – his own, but oh, wasn’t it so much sweeter to pretend it was someone else’s? – friction, need – he knew it was wrong to want it so badly but he couldn’t care anymore – so _tight_ …! His mind left him and then he was crying out as pearly white sin splattered out over his hand and bedspread. The coil of pleasure snapped and he was spent… but that ever-repressed place inside him was still screaming for release.

_‘Need…’_

_‘I need it…’_

**_‘Tonight.’_ **

Maybe he would be going out after all.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_‘That one?’_

_‘…too fat.’_

An elegant mouth took a shallow drink of beer to soothe a parched throat.

_‘Him?’_

_‘…what a hideous creature.’_

Cold brown eyes scanned the room, flitting restlessly from one patron to the next.

_‘What about him?’_

_‘…so very plain.’_

Die growled under his breath, biting back the impatience and frustration threatening to choke him. What was he going to do now? Over an hour spent sitting in this club, waiting for someone _worthy_ to cross his path, and still no one managed to catch and hold his interest. Dragging his thumb absentmindedly through the condensation on his glass, he considered going somewhere else. This was the best gay bar in the area, but if the crowd was going to remain so exceptionally unattractive, he didn’t have much choice. He couldn’t wait for another night, and he _wasn’t_ going to settle for anyone less than perfect. Sitting back in his seat, he took a long, deep drink of his beer, resigning himself to his fate and preparing to leave as soon as his drink was finished.

When his head came back down, movement from the entrance caught his eye, and he nearly choked.

_‘…two?’_

A pair of men was just coming in, scoping out the club with the open curiosity of first-timers. Both were rather short, with stylishly messy hair that flashed gold in the passing strobe lights, dressed simply enough to avoid undue attention, but attractive enough to keep it should it land on them. One had big eyes under a spiky fringe of bangs, his black blazer and the white shirt underneath left casually unbuttoned to show off a small collection of silver necklaces and the unusual piercings at his neck and sternum. This one had a more slender frame than his companion, and held himself in a more welcoming stance. The other’s eyes were sharper, half obscured by hair cropped short over the left side and hanging long over the right, and had an indistinguishable tattoo creeping up the side of his neck from under the collar of his black denim jacket. Two fine faces, with shapely cheeks and sweetly-curving lips; two lean, toned bodies moving with understated but undeniable grace and confidence.

_‘They’re lovely…’_

Die’s tongue flicked out to wet suddenly-dry lips, feeling the need inside him boil and rise just looking at the two men. Easily distinguishable from one another, he decided, but unless they were both raging narcissists, too similar to be involved with one another. He was proven correct when the more sociable-looking one with the piercings split off to a more populated section of the club with a flirtatious little smirk, and the tattooed one drifted towards a quieter corner of the bar, close to where Die sat.

_‘This one.’_

_‘Oh yes. He’ll do nicely.’_

It tore at his last remaining shreds of control, but Die bided his time, sipping at the last of his beer as the blonde settled at the bar and ordered something amber-colored in a short glass. No one else approached him. There would be no competition. The other blonde stayed off in the crowd. No distractions or interference. The small man was looking about himself, but making no move to engage. A wallflower, but an interested one. Die couldn’t ask for a more perfect target. The blonde raised his drink, wrapping those plush lips around the glass, the length of his neck flexing enticingly as he swallowed, and Die had to bite back a groan. He pounded the last of his beer and abandoned the glass on the table as he made his way toward the bar.

“I’ve never seen you before. Do you come here often?”

The blonde looked up at the sudden greeting, apparently surprised by it. His mouth opened partway, as if to respond, but he seemed to hesitate, and there was a long, awkward silence instead. Die braced his hands against the bar as if simply waiting for the bartender, and flashed a charmingly embarrassed smile.

“Oh man… that was probably really cheesy, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”

The uncomfortable moment was broken, and the shorter man tried to wave it off, “No, no!” But a wry smile was cracking his lips, and he had to admit the truth with sympathetic humor. “Well… yeah, it was a bit.”

Die hung his head, scratching the back of his neck while scrunching his face up in a show of endearing awkwardness. “Ah, jeez…”

The blonde laughed, not unkindly, and turned in his seat to face Die fully. Through the curtain of brunette hair shielding the taller man’s face, he never saw the victorious smirk curving Die’s lips as he reached out to introduce himself.

_‘Gotcha.’_

Finally, his hunt had yielded an attractive prey and he could proceed to the chase. It was a dance he was uncommonly skilled at; a wonderfully effective balance between flirtation and small town charm, disarming and utterly good-natured. His lips wove a steady spell with engaging smiles and sharp-witted humor that had his prey hanging on his every word. His hands danced about enthusiastically, ever-so-sweetly tucking his hair behind his ears or reaching out to brush over the blonde’s arm between gestures to create a steadily-building sense of intimacy between them. He made the younger man laugh and – though even the boy’s name was forgotten the moment he spoke it – he gave every appearance of being a wonderfully attentive listener.

Die took the man’s tab upon himself and as minutes crept into hours, one drink after another drained itself past full lips. Laughter became a little more frequent and a touch louder, cheeks took on a faint flush, eyes glittered just a little brighter in the bar light. The blonde was being careful not to get _too_ drunk, or at least he was trying to be. Die kept him just distracted enough that his hands and mouth occupied themselves without too much thought, drinking simply because he was holding a drink and it was easy to lose count. Closer, they drifted, closer and closer as intoxication and good conversation bred warm familiarity and ease.

_‘Almost…’_

_‘Gah, just shut up and let’s get out of here you stupid creature!’_

_‘Patience… have to be patient…’_

To be honest, he liked hearing the blonde’s voice – an uneven speaking pace that swam, pitchy, up and down with uncommon inflection – but his words simply didn’t register. They didn’t matter. This whole exercise was simply a means to Die’s end, and served little more purpose than to whet his appetite. Learning the way the other moved, all the little gestures and rhythms of motion and utterances, building fantasy upon fantasy around the most minute details to incite himself further. And such an effective hors d'oeuvre it was; Die couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so excited to connect with someone or so impatient to get them alone. His heart was racing, his fingers were itching, and he could hardly keep from rocking in his seat with the repressed need to _touch_ this man.

“Jeez, it’s getting pretty loud in here…”

 _Those_ words – mumbled as they were into a half-empty amaretto sour – registered through the impatient static in Die’s ears. Swallowing and trying not to sound too eager, he cocked his head at the smaller man. “Yeah it is… Hey, do you want to find somewhere a little quieter? I know a nice park nearby.”

The blonde smiled and stood – a bit unsteadily. “Yeah, that sounds nice. Let me hit the bathroom real quick first?”

_‘Fucking **finally** …’_

_‘Ahh, I can’t wait!’_

Die smiled and nodded, leaving a folded stack of cash under his empty glass to pay for their drinks as the other man slipped off into the crowd toward the restrooms. He could feel himself shivering with anticipation. The chase was almost over; he could almost _feel_ the blonde’s skin under his fingertips, smell him, _taste_ his sweat. It had been so long…

“Hey. All set?”

“Let’s go.”

Under the pretense of guidance, Die put a hand to the smaller man’s lower back as they made their way out of the bar. So preoccupied with his own impending bliss, he never noticed big brown eyes watching them from beneath a fringe of spiky gold bangs, or the mischievous grin that curled pierced lips. His tattooed prize did, though, and flashed a surreptitious wink back over his shoulder at his original companion just before passing through the doorway.

They walked for several blocks, talking about nothing Die would ever remember, the blonde’s steps weaving just a bit and periodically leading him to bump into his companion’s side. Die made a show of catching and steadying him each time – any excuse to touch – and they laughed it off; to all appearances, two simple men enjoying each other’s company. Good friends, perhaps, or a first date that went particularly well. A nice enough sight, but ultimately dismissible so late at night, and no one was around to take note of the pair as they passed into the park.

_‘So close… we’re so close now!’_

_‘The moon’s so bright tonight… makes him look so-…’_

It took every last shred of his self control for Die to keep himself walking at a casual pace when all he wanted to do was grab the blonde by the wrist and drag him at a full run down the familiar twisting path. The trail led to a stretch of wooded area, where it split off into dozens of side-paths that ended either in little groves or joined up with other trails, creating a sort of maze between trees and heavy underbrush. At night, it was a rather romantic place; solitary, silent but for the soft trills of cicada and leaves rustling in a gentle breeze, creating a wonderfully intimate atmosphere around them. Eventually, they reached a secluded clearing at the heart of the wood, trees parted overhead to let white moonlight pour over them and thick, soft grass underfoot.

The tattooed man was apparently delighted by the scene, pulling away from Die to run to the center of the clearing and turn his face up into the light with a serene smile. Die followed at a more sedate pace, coming to stand behind him. The blonde turned to face him, eyes bright with wonder, and opened his mouth to speak-

“He- Ggk!”

The blonde took a staggering step back, his face abruptly twisted in confusion and disbelief, hands coming over to hover uselessly over the long gash now bisecting his neck. Blood gushed forth, thick and dark, and a mouth that could no longer speak or draw air struggled to do either. Wide gold eyes took in a hand now streaked with red and wrapped lovingly around a glistening knife, then rose to stare up at Die’s utterly cold features, questioning, before the blonde crumpled to the forest floor.

Die knelt next to his prey and set the knife aside, letting shaking hands grab and claw at him with aimless desperation. “Shhh, it’s okay… it’s okay. Soon you’ll be perfect.”

Die watched on as blood continued to spill out in rhythmic waves, until the tense body finally went lax and sank into the grass, utterly still. Sightless gold eyes stared off to one side, forever frozen in hopeless shock. Letting loose a shuttering breath laced with a faint moan, Die took the smaller man’s face in both hands and swooped down, tugging the blonde head up to seal them in a passionate kiss. He drove himself past those sweet lips and found a soft, unresisting tongue that still tasted faintly of almond liquor. Ecstasy burned through him and he moved to kneel on top of the body, rocking his hips roughly against the smaller man’s as he lapped eagerly at that delicious mouth. He ran his thumbs over smooth cheeks, slid his fingers back to run through silky gold hair, and tasted his prize until he ran out of breath and had to pull back, panting as he stared down at the body.

_‘So damned beautiful…’_

Truly a lovely body… heavy, pliant and yielding to his every whim, existing only for his pleasure. His eyes rolled back into his head with bliss as he groaned and tipped the head back, delving his tongue into the gaping wound spanning the blonde’s throat. He didn’t normally taste his victims’ blood but tonight, nothing had ever smelled so sweet to him, and the thick, coppery flavor made him absolutely ache with need. His hands shook with it as they made their way down to the front of the blonde’s shirt and yanked furiously at either side until the buttons snapped and came apart. Under that, he found more tattoos etched into an elegant clavicle, as well as one clawing its way up one side of magnificently toned abs. He traced along the lines of ink with his fingers, then his lips and tongue until each was wet and shined as if new. He found a tiny little navel and played at it; dipping the tip of his tongue in, sucking at the skin around it and nipping at the upper edge.

_‘Gods, he tastes good.’_

He slid down to undo the pants next, pulling the fly open and grabbing hold of pants and boxers alike then inching them down with sharp, jerking motions that shook the entire body. He managed with some effort to peel them away and cast them aside before sliding his palms back up strong legs to explore the treasure nestled in neatly-trimmed black hair. The flaccid cock was wonderfully soft between his fingers, silky-smooth and still warm. He deeply enjoyed the feel of it, rubbing his thumb over the delicate flesh and stroking it slowly, lovingly.

_‘He’s almost perfect.’_

_‘I just need to…’_

Licking his lips, Die picked up his knife again and plunged it into the blonde’s belly just under the ribs, dragging it down through the crevice between those lovely abdominal muscles until he hit the little navel and pulled it back out. Driving his free hand into the opening, he felt around blindly for what he wanted most, pushing and pulling aside whatever other parts got in his way until viscera was spilling out of the wound to glisten black in the moonlight. A wet, rattling breath pushing out of the blonde’s throat let him know he’d hit a lung and he groped around that area until he felt was he was looking for. Wrapping his fingers around the coveted organ, he braced his thighs around the body to keep it in place and _yanked._

Veins and arteries snapped one by one and the sick, wet sound of suction and tearing flesh joined Die’s panting breath in the still night air until finally the blonde’s heart came free of his chest.

“You don’t need this,” Die hissed at the body, abruptly angry. “You would never have loved me. Who could ever-… you don’t need this!”

He turned to get rid of the organ, to crush it in his palm until it was unrecognizable as anything other than mangled meat and cast it aside, just as he had done all the others. But something stopped him. That sweet, coppery smell hit him again, making his mouth water, and he had no control left to even hesitate before indulging the strange new urge. Bringing the organ up to his lips, curiously, he ran his tongue over the smooth surface and found himself groaning in pleasure. The knife fell from his fingers, landing in the mess he’d made with the rest of his victim’s innards, and he held the heart in both hands as he sank his teeth into the soft, strong tissue. Blood spilled down his chin, and his eyelashes fluttered closed.

“Unnnnhhhhh…”

Everything about that single bite – the _taste,_ the _texture_ , the inherent _wrongness_ of feeding on the flesh of another human being – ramped the madness in Die to a fever pitch, and his lust flared to a blazing need. Frantically, he made a fist around what remained of the heart and flung it into the grass before fumbling his own pants open and gasping as cool night air teased at his aching erection. Never before had he yearned this badly for one of his victims, never before had his need been so mindlessly consuming. Never before had his pleasure been so deep as to almost _burn_ inside. Gracelessly, he hitched up one limp leg to expose the blonde’s entrance, slicking blood over his arousal with one quick hand.

When he finally drove into the warm, tight passage, it felt as though electricity was coursing through him, and his own heart might burst within his chest. Good – so goddamn good – _too_ good to be borne with any semblance of a rational mind. He braced his hands in the grass on either side of the hollowed chest, and the body folded in half beneath him, legs bending up and out at awkward angles to allow room for his quick, deep thrusts. So tight, but _yielding_ ; so warm with life, but still as death; constrictive around him, letting him in deeper than any living partner ever would or could. Unresisting. Undemanding. Unjudgmental. _Perfection_ , just for him. This was his love.

Under the white moonlight, he labored with a feral desperation, using the mangled body beneath his as a macabre pleasure toy. His hands shifted, grasping, clawing and grabbing at once-strong arms and rounded shoulders for some semblance of stability. He kissed gaping lips again, drawing the soft amaretto tongue into his mouth and sucking on it as his beating hips lost their rhythm and succumbed to wild, brutal motions-within-motions of rutting, jerking, and pounding. When he disengaged, gasping for air, the blonde head lolled to the side, vacant eyes still staring off into the void. That empty look of lingering disbelief – that helpless shock etched into a façade no longer housing a soul – undid him, abruptly and explosively. His entire body went rigid and he let out a low cry of satisfaction as white pleasure burned its way through and out of him, flooding the remains of the small blonde man.

Panting, Die eased back onto the balls of his feet, crouching, and looked around himself. He’d been here too long. It was time to go. But first, he collected his sticky, slick knife and examined the blonde for a trophy to take home; something unique that he could always remember this night with. Hair…? It was a pretty pale gold, but ultimately, blonde was not an uncommon color. Jewelry? There were a few unusual rings, and a bracelet that Die found particularly attractive… but no, tonight had been special. It deserved a special trophy. A finger, perhaps; they were such long, elegant things, and some of them were decorated.

_‘Decoration…’_

His eyes strayed to the ink staining the blonde’s neck, collarbone, and shoulders. Yes… a tattooed bit of skin would make a fine prize. But which one? The swooping, grinning skull? The graceful calligraphy spelling out ‘Damned’? No… he’d seen one earlier that he’d rather liked, hadn’t he? On the side… He had to push a trailing bulge of viscera out of the way, and wipe at coagulating blood to locate what he wanted, and he let out a breathy sigh when he did. That lovely, vicious tiger clawing its way up the deliciously toned torso. Carefully, he carved out a rectangle around the tattoo and peeled the skin away from the muscle it covered.

Standing and turning his back on the gore-filled clearing, Die let the most profound contentment flow through his entire being, and turned the first true smile he’d managed in months up to the moon.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sunlight trickled through wavering curtains, pale and playful in the late morning sky, to spill over a supine form lying nude in a tangle of blankets and sheets. Finely arched eyebrows twitched a bit at the disturbance, eyelashes fluttering over sleepy brown eyes as an exquisitely-crafted mouth rolled open in a languid yawn. Long limbs shifted and stretched, consciousness drifted back to the surface to wipe away the last traces of lingering dreams, and Die welcomed the new day with a lazy smile. There was a pleasant ache in his body and a rare contentedness in his soul that he positively basked in.

_‘Mmm… I should get up soon if I want to catch the news…’_

And he did so dearly want to catch the news today. He spent another couple minutes laying in the sunlight, sprawled out like a great cat, before eventually rolling off the bed to start his morning routine. Make the bed, brush teeth and hair – no need to shower; he’d done that when he got home last night – tie up hair. Oddly enough, people seemed to have trouble recognizing him with his hair down and wearing contacts, so he only went out that way when he was actively planning to hunt. Check on his laundry; good as new, without a single trace of blood. Check on his trophy; progressing nicely. The internet had provided a very easy recipe for tanning hide, though it would take several days and smelled rather foul at this stage of dehydration. Pour some cereal with entirely too much milk for breakfast, curl up on the couch, and flick on the television.

A weather report…

_‘Oh good, it’s going to rain tomorrow… I thought this dry spell would last forever.’_

Health report…

_‘Another faulty fad diet… who cares?’_

Politics…

_‘Well… political scandal is usually pretty important, I guess…’_

Sports…

_‘…Huh.’_

Die frowned as the program began to wind to a close. Where was _his_ report? Where was the pretty-faced anchor woman dramatically announcing that The Heartbreaker had struck again, claiming his 12 th victim (though the temptation was always there to call in anonymously and tell the news people that he’d actually killed once before the ones they knew about)? Where were the warnings to gay men in the area, bidding them to be cautious and not travel alone at night? Of course, the true high came from the act itself – from the feeling of plunging himself into the warm, dead embrace of a lover that could never reject him – but there was always an undeniable thrill from hearing the macabre story exposed to the world the next day.

For the rest of the day, he continued to search for his story. He flipped through news channels and programs for some mention of himself or the blonde. He brought out his laptop and looked for a report online, muted the television and tried the radio, even sat in a diner eavesdropping on other patrons for the better part of two hours as confusion shifted to a steadily-building frustration, waiting for someone to acknowledge his work. It never came. When his living room began to turn orange from the sun’s dying light, he paced his house restlessly, trying to puzzle out the lack of attention.

_‘Why don’t they care?’_

_‘They’ve **always** cared before.’_

_‘Have they… have they not found the body, maybe?’_

_‘There’s no way. That park isn’t **that** quiet, not on a Saturday.’_

_‘Maybe I should go check, just to be sure…’_

Die growled under his breath, running his fingers through his hair.

_‘No, **no!** That’s how people get caught, and people who get caught don’t get to touch anyone else ever again. This is just… just a trick!’_

_‘Yes, that’s it… a trick… the police are trying to trick me into making a mistake!’_

_‘Because I’ve outsmarted them so far… they think they can lure me out by withholding **my** story from the public! Filthy pigs!’_

_‘But what if it’s still there? If I could see it again…’_

Questions, so many questions, so much paranoia. Die wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t insane. He knew that withholding details of a crime from the press was a common police tactic for catching perpetrators, when they slipped and gave up information the public could never have known. He knew that returning to the scene of the crime was one of the most common mistakes a criminal could make, and for a criminal of his caliber, it would be a grave mistake indeed. If he were ever caught, ever tried for his crimes and somehow proven guilty… They would never understand why he did what he did; they would lock him up, make him stop, and he would never be able to dig perfection and love out of another person again. He would die, unsatisfied and alone in some cold cell somewhere. No, he was much too smart to go rushing off to that clearing so soon.

But still, he couldn’t help but want to go look.

He wanted to hear people on the street, on the subway, on the news, _everywhere_ buzzing about what he’d done with that pretty little blonde. He wanted to hear women fret and whisper behind their hands of the shadows that stalked the night, wanted to hear the machismo of men who thought they’d be able to fight him off if he ever went for them. He wanted the entire nation to fear him and all that he represented; wanted the sickness that sullied him to spread and stain all the land. And _he was being denied_.

When night washed over the city, still with no word of his crime issued to the public, Die did the only thing he could think of to quiet his discontent and worry. He went out, bought a couple cases of beer, returned home, and proceeded to drink himself blind. For hours, he picked and poked through his house, looking for distractions. He watched movies and a soccer game. He pulled out his older trophies again, one by one recalling his past victims, mildly disappointed that he’d chosen to take something he couldn’t play with right away from his most recent lover, but looking forward to the finished product. By midnight, he managed to convince himself that he didn’t care whether or not anyone else knew what he’d done, because _he_ knew, and who the hell cared what the idiot masses thought anyways? It was the last coherent thought he managed to piece together before flopping facedown onto his bed and passing out.

~*~

_Die opened his eyes, and found himself standing outside. He looked down curiously and saw that he was completely naked but covered in glistening blood, fresh and black in the moonlight. It was dripping off of his fingertips with a lightly ticklish sort of feeling. Grass tickled at his bare feet as he began to move silently through a pitch black forest, wind howling through the trees overhead with an eerie moan of longing. As he walked, he heard a sound… soft at first, but growing louder and louder as he passed deeper into the wood. A steady bass thump, thump, thumping rhythm. He knew the sound almost immediately – it had been the first sound he ever heard, as his ears formed in the womb, and it was the last sound he heard each night when he settled down to sleep. A heartbeat._

_His steps quickened eagerly, until he was almost running through the trees toward the sound as it slowly grew to overpower the sound of the wind, the leaves, even his own breathing. Finally, he came to the clearing, and there it was. A beating heart, lying in the soft grass, flexing rhythmically and shaking the very air with the force of its every pulse. The breeze shifted direction, blowing towards Die, and he smelled it; sweet and coppery and so unspeakably alluring he couldn’t remember or imagine a time when he’d ever wanted to taste anything else._

_His feet carried him to the heart, and he dropped to his knees, lifting the precious organ in both hands. The moment it touched his lips, it went silent and still, and his entire body began to thrum with the beat it had previously maintained. When his teeth sank into the flesh of it, a voice he knew and didn’t know whispered through the wind to murmur into his ear, sending a shiver through his spine._

**_“The lion’s outside of your door, the wolf’s in your bed.”_ **

_Clutching the heart to himself, covetous, Die looked around for the source of the song. He found cold, empty eyes staring at him through a haze of death and froze, horrified. A hollowed out body swayed toward him, inhumanly graceful with viscera trailing on the ground behind it, cold-blackened lips moving behind a partial curtain of dirtied yellow hair._

**_“The lion’s claws are sharpened for war, the wolf’s teeth are red.”_ **

_The body sank to its knees before him, reaching up to run frigid fingers over his cheeks and cup his face, almost tenderly. The touch was sticky, catching and tugging at Die’s flesh from the coagulating blood covering him. He shuddered, but didn’t pull away, finding himself utterly entranced by the singing corpse. Under its unseeing gaze, he took another deliberate bite of the heart, the fingers of both hands wrapped possessively around it. He chewed the morsel slowly, savoring it, and swallowed with a breathy almost-moan._

_“It’s mine,” he told the blonde harshly. “You can’t have it back. You don’t need it.”_

_The mouth twisted into a smile, and continued to sing as if undisturbed. **“And what a monstrous sight it makes, mocking man’s best friend…”**_

_Then one of the blonde’s hands – the one decorated with obscure tattoos – was drawing back, coiling as a snake at his side. Die frowned, opening his mouth to ask what the body was doing, but found himself cut off before he could form so much as a single syllable. His eyes went wide as his breath caught in his throat, rasping and harsh, before he looked down to stare in disbelief at the wrist lodged in the center his chest. He **felt** fingers flex inside of him, fisting around his own heart, and wrenching it free with a single, brutal yank. Dead eyes turned sharp, bright gold, and smiled just as surely as that lovely mouth as the blonde leaned forward to plant the sweetest kiss on Die’s gasping lips. _

**_“But both the wolf and lion crave the same thing in the end.”_ **

Die woke with a start, sweating and panting. His heart was racing so hard his chest ached, and his throat was tight with anxiety. He kicked away his covers and threw himself out of his bed, staggering into his bathroom to splash cold water on his face with shaking hands. Leaving the faucet running, he clutched at the edge of the counter for support, and stared into his wide-eyed reflection, demanding answers that could never come. This had never happened to him. Never before had he dreamt of his victims after lying with them; never before had they come back to haunt him. Never before had a nightmare – or any dream, for that matter – left a lingering taste on his tongue even after waking.

_‘Am I… losing my mind?’_

No… no, it was just because this last one had deviated from his routine in too many ways. He ate of his lover’s flesh rather than simply brutalizing it. He took home a trophy that he couldn’t touch and savor right away. The news failed to report his kill to the public. It was just too different from his established pattern, and it was upsetting him, that was all.

_‘I have to see. Just a quick look, surely there’s no harm in that?’_

_‘Just a quick look… just to be sure…’_

_‘But don’t rush! No, there’s no need to rush…’_

Swallowing and nodding to himself, Die turned off the sink faucet and moved to the shower instead. He forced himself to take his time cleaning up, feigning nonchalance to no one but himself as he washed, dried, dressed, tied his hair back into a ponytail, and pushed his glasses up his nose. He was too wound up to eat any breakfast, but he did settle onto the couch to watch the news. Still no mention of his crime. His anxiety flared, shot through with frustration and confusion. When the program ended, he gathered up his things, locked up his apartment, and jogged the three blocks between his home and the bus he needed. A few minutes waiting, another few fidgeting and tapping his feet as the bus moved, and eventually he was in the neighborhood of the park and the club.

_‘Have to be careful… if this is a trap, I don’t want to give them any reason to suspect me.’_

It killed him, but he took his sweet time going to the park. Walked at a sedate pace around it, bought sweet snow from a vendor, window shopped at some stores across the street; all while scanning the surrounding crowds for anyone who looked like they might be paying too much attention. There was nothing. Cautiously, he passed into the park itself and drifted along the aimless paths leading toward the wooded area, settling on a bench partway through to eat his sweet snow and look around again. Still nothing. When the paper cup was empty, he stood and threw it away in passing as he entered the forest trails, heart pounding in his throat.

If the police were going to try to get him, this would be the place. The scene of the crime, where crowds thinned out enough that each person could be individually scrutinized and where dozens of cops could be waiting just around the bend, hidden by thick underbrush and trees. Every step Die took was fraught with anticipation, paranoia chewing at his nerves as he made his way deeper and deeper into the forest that haunted his dreams – wet dreams and nightmares alike, now. He took countless looping sidepaths, skirting around the one leading to the clearing until he thought he might puke from the tension. And when he finally took it, he was absolutely shocked to round the turn and find…

_‘Nothing?!’_

Nothing at all. No police. No crime scene tape. No body. There wasn’t even a trace of blood in the grass, and it had not yet rained though the sky was heavy with the threat of it. Die slumped back against a tree, one hand over his mouth, and stared at the empty clearing.

_‘Did I… did I imagine the whole thing?’_

_‘That’s impossible! I killed him, I **know** I did! I have a fucking trophy!’_

_‘But how can it all just be gone?! How can no one have noticed?!’_

_‘I’m losing my mind! I’m losing my goddamn mind!’_

Shaking, caught between panic and fury, Die turned and rushed out of the park. What was the point of subtlety, if no crime been committed?! How much of his memory of that night was even real, if not that moment, the only moment he could recall with perfect clarity? Had that blonde even existed?! He didn’t want to believe he was insane, didn’t want to believe there could be anything really wrong with his mind, but he simply couldn’t understand how that clearing could be so perfectly empty after what he’d done there only two nights ago. By the time he reached the edge of the wood, he was all but running from that damning grove, and he continued his frantic pace all the way to the park entrance before he slowed to a stop. Closing his eyes, he tried to force himself to calm down.

_‘This is crazy… there has to be a rational explanation. **Has** to be.’_

_‘I need to get out of here, just need to go home and relax. Think about this calmly.’_

A plan. Not a very comprehensive plan, but at least he had the next step, and that was enough for now. He opened his eyes and prepared to take the first step-

“ _Holy_ shit!” he gasped, staggering back.

There, across the street, standing perfectly immobile amongst the ever shifting and flowing crowds, was the _other_ blonde. The pierced one that had come into the club with his victim was standing there, hands casually tucked into pockets, staring at him. As Die stared back, completely frozen in shock, the shorter man’s jeweled lips curled into a smirk that spoke of equal parts amusement and pity, as if he were watching a kitten that had gotten itself stuck in a paper bag.

_‘He knows!’_

_‘There’s no way… he can’t know, he can’t possibly know!’_

_‘ **He fucking knows!** ’_

_‘Why is he looking at me like that?!’_

_‘Get out!’_

_‘I have to get out of here!’_

Too freaked out to worry about looking suspicious, Die turned on his heel and ran as fast as he could away from the park and the man who looked too damn much like the one he could have sworn he’d killed. He ran as fast as his long legs could carry him, clearing city blocks in record time and stumbling through the doors of the bus home at the last possible second. The driver and other passengers were very pointedly not staring at him, in such a way that he knew he had all of their attention, and he did all that he could to ignore for the entirety of the ride home. He was panting harshly, and couldn’t seem to catch his breath. The bus approached his stop and he pulled the cord, moving to the doors as it slowed to a halt with a sharp hiss of air breaks.

Just as his foot hit the ground outside, a hand closed around his arm, and he looked back to see who wanted his attention. He was abjectly horrified to find himself staring into big brown eyes under golden bangs, so much silver jewelry flashing as a compact body leaned forward to brush warm lips over his ear.

**“The lion’s outside of your door, the wolf’s in your bed.”**

Die gasped, reeling back, and the pierced blonde smirked, disappearing back into the bus as it pulled out of sight. It was the same tune, the _same damn song_ he’d heard in his dream! But it wasn’t the same voice…

_‘This can’t be happening…’_

_‘This is **crazy** , none of this can be happening!’_

Die was in a full blown panic as he raced back toward his apartment. Halfway there, his cellphone began to ring, and he fumbled it out of his pocket, staring at the unrecognized number in utter dread before accepting the call and holding the phone to his ear, saying nothing.

**“The wolf, he howls, the lion does roar, the wolf lets him in.”**

“Who are you?!” Die seethed viciously. “Why are you doing this?! What do you want?!”

**“The lion runs in through the door, the real fun begins.”**

Die snarled and hung up his phone, running down the stairs to his apartment. He fumbled the key into the lock, twisted it nearly hard enough to snap the thing, and slammed the door behind himself once he was inside. Panting, frantic, he kicked off his shoes and rushed to his bedroom. A short cry had to be swallowed before it could turn into a full scream when he found his trophy box out of its hiding place, its precious contents strewn carelessly across his bedspread. He whipped around, eyes wild, and cast about for the invader of his home and sanity.

“Where are you?! Show yourself, you son of a bitch!”

**“As they both thrash upon you and rip open your flesh…”**

The voice was coming from _everywhere_ , and Die tore through his apartment searching for any kind of proof that the whole thing wasn’t in his head. He searched every room, threw open every door of every cupboard, bit back an alarmed cry when he found his most recent trophy was not where he’d left it, and fought to keep himself from collapsing into a fit of madness and rage. He had no control over this situation, and it was as infuriating as it was terrifying. More and more, he was beginning to truly believe he was losing his mind. Finally, he came back to his bedroom, where he’d started, and he passed through the doorway with trepidation threatening to choke the air from his lungs.

Once inside, he went fully still, his entire body engulfed by a sharp chill. There, in the center of his bed, lounged the blonde… _his_ blonde, the one with tattoos and the face half-obscured by hair, the one he’d killed and tasted and left hollowed in a mess of gore two nights ago. Laying on his side, shirtless, like a goddamn underwear model with his boxers peeking over the top of loose jeans, very obviously _not_ disemboweled, watching Die with obvious amusement, was the corpse he had so recently defiled. And the indisputable proof that it was the same man… that perfect rectangle of skin missing from an otherwise flawless abdomen that Die had taken his trophy from, revealing glossy red flesh underneath.

Die tried to speak, and managed only a breathy whimper.

The blonde smirked and opened his mouth to finish the verse, **“The lion eats his fill, and then the wolf cleans up the mess. The lion’s outside of your door, _the wolf’s in your bed._ ”** 

 

 

* * *

 This chapter is set to [_The Lion and the Wolf_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ic4TLheisFc) by Thrice. I do not own the song, or profit from its use.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Die’s brain shut down for a moment, and his entire body went into auto-pilot. Either he’d gone mad and was imagining this entire scenario or his victim had come back from the grave and hunted him down, and he simply didn’t have the capacity to handle either option. Faced with a home invasion by a man he had recently murdered, or someone imitating that man, fight seemed impossible and so instinct drove him to flight. He turned to run. He got as far as three steps, his vision blurring and twisting with the frantic speed of his motions, before he was brought to a staggering, stumbling halt by the figure blocking his hallway. The same figure that had _just_ been on his bed. He reeled back, horrified, and tripped over his own feet, gracelessly scrambling backwards on his ass until he knocked into the far wall and had nowhere left to run to.

“You know, kitty cat, I kind of like this whole sexy nerd look you’ve got going on today,” the blonde mentioned, almost offhandedly if not for the purely predatory smirk tugging at his lips.

Die looked into his bedroom, eyes wide. The bed was now empty.

_Shitshitshitshitsh-_

_This isn’t real, this **can’t** be real!_

_-itshitshitshitshitsh-_

_Is this what madness feels like?_

_-itshitshitshitshit!_

“What are you doing here?!” he hissed at the blonde through haze of fury-laced panic. “What do you want?!”

The blonde raised a mocking eyebrow. “What, you don’t want to see me? Well, that’s just rude. I thought we really had something together, after we were so _intimate_ the other night.”

Die shook his head frantically, still trying to back further into the wall. “No, NO, you’re… he’s dead! I _killed_ him! You can’t be him, you can’t be _real_ , because he’s DEAD! You… _you’re the other one!_ With the piercings, you… you followed us! And now you’re trying to get me back for killing him!”

“Yeah? You think I went out and got a whole mess of tattoos, grew out my hair, gained ten kilos, and cut a big patch of skin off my belly just to dick with you? And I did it all in one day?”

“Then you’re a hallucination! Either way, you can’t be him because he’s _dead!”_

“Do hallucinations hurt?”

“Wh-… what? No, of course n- AGH!”

Die brought his hands up to cradle his mouth, the taste of his own blood flooding his mouth from where the blonde’s punch had driven his cheek into his teeth. The tattooed man remained crouched in front of him, watching him shake and pant while he struggled to understand what was happening, to somehow rationalize the situation. Die had to accept that the figure before him was real, because it had just punched him in the face, and the resulting pain was _very_ real. He had to accept that it was his blonde and not the other one, because the differences were just too numerous. He had to accept that a dead man was in his house, hitting him and mocking him and somehow still managing to tweak at that horrible, homicidal place inside of him.

“What are you?” he managed to whisper.

The blonde grinned. “There, now we’re getting somewhere. Your people call me Amano-Jaku; the very embodiment of perversion, who consumes the flesh of the innocent and walks amongst mankind in the flayed skin of its victims, who stirs the darkness in mortals’ hearts into a burning desire for sin to drive them to their inevitable downfall. My people call me Kyo.”

Die just stared, hands lowering slightly to reveal a reddened mouth that gaped in shock. “You… you’re a… demon?”

“Oh yes. In a comfy, cozy human suit which _you_ , you wonderfully sick creature, tore all to pieces and violated, and I find that absolutely _fascinating_. I’ve never been murdered before.”

“…” Die’s eyes flicked down to the patch he’d carved out of the blonde’s abdomen. It was a deep, shiny red that he’d originally thought was scabbed-over flesh like the edges of the golden-tan skin around it, but from this close it looked almost like some kind of pebbled scaling. He reached out slowly, brushing his fingertips over the second layer of skin, finding it to be dry and smooth to the touch, thick but soft like snake's skin. A soft, hysterical laugh bubbled out of him, and he cut it off quickly.

Kyo leaned forward, conspiratorially. “I kind of liked it.”

“And… the other one? The one you came to the club with, that followed me?”

A lazy shrug. “My little brother. We hunt together, share most of our prey; our skins aren’t related, but they share a hometown. He likes poking holes in his, I like drawing on mine. When they shrivel and wilt, we’ll let them ‘die’ and go find new ones. Actually, it’s kind of funny; we had been planning on killing _you_. Imagine my surprise when you beat me to the punch.”

“You-…You’re a goddamn monster!” Die breathed in horror.

“Says the man who gutted, ate, and fucked me thinking I was dead.”

“What?! I’m-… that’s not-… _you_ -… …No.” Die shook his head, pushing up of the floor and moving into his bedroom to gather up his scattered trophies with trembling hands. “No, this isn’t real. I’m imagining this, because I’ve gone mad. You can’t be here, and you can’t be real, because you’re dead. I killed you, I _felt_ you die!”

“Mmm, and don’t you want to feel it again?”

Die froze, breath catching in his throat.

Kyo sidled up behind the taller body, his voice dropped to a sultry murmur. “Don’t you want to feel it while you’re _inside_ me? Feel this body’s final convulsions; feel my heartbeat shudder to a halt around your cock?”

_Oh gods…_

_Nnnh…!_

_This… this can’t be real, this has to be-…_

_Oh, but I want… I **need** …_

Die turned slowly to face the demon again, a slow flush rising to his cheeks. He was still freaking out, certainly, but lust was starting to bubble up in him with an unnatural, unholy persistence to override everything else. Kyo pressed against him slowly, hands sliding up his chest, up his neck, to tug his hair free of its tie, stretching up to brush that wicked mouth over his ear.

“Don’t you want to taste my heart again, Daisuke?”

Die groaned, eyes fluttering just a bit at the mere thought of tasting that sinful treat once more. The next thing he knew, he had two fistfuls of blonde hair and his tongue was driving into the smaller man’s mouth with mindless desperation. It was a bizarre experience for him; not only was the person he was kissing actually kissing him back, but the tongue driving against seemed too long, too smooth, and the teeth he was sliding past felt rather sharp. Kyo, though he’d been planning on drawing this game out a little bit, tasted the mortal’s blood from where he’d hit him, and it stripped away a lot of his patience. He grabbed Die by the front of the shirt and threw him roughly back onto the bed, sending the old trophies scattering across the floor as he crawled on hands and knees up the length of the taller man’s body.

Die wasn’t even phased by the display of inhuman strength. He was lost, fully and absolutely, in the legs straddling his hips, in the wickedly unnatural mouth sealing once more against his own, in the hands growing claws that shredded through his shirt and rip its tattered remains off of him. To feel another body on his, moving, breathing, _pulsating_ with lust and life; it was a foreign sensation to him, overwhelming and almost jarring in its intensity. Pleasure – from the demon’s touch or its will, Die had no way of knowing – so abrupt and so strong it hurt. Still there was the taste of blood and the promise of death, but it felt wrong to him if only for the lack of wrongness to which he was so deeply accustomed and addicted; a whole new macabre fantasy for him to indulge himself in.

He drove one hand into the hole he’d made in the demon’s skin-suit, wanting to feel more of that scaly skin slicked with the human blood running through the protective covering. Kyo moaned and chuckled against him, thoroughly enjoying both Die’s morbid eagerness and the first touch he’d felt against his own true flesh in countless decades. He wasn’t prepared for the brunette to dig his fingers in until his own blood welled up to mix with that running through his suit, but the pain only spurred him into grinding his hips roughly against Die’s.

When Kyo disengaged, their mouths separating with a wet smack, Die startled at the sudden change in his appearance. Sharp brown eyes had gone honey-gold surrounded by black, and a grotesquely long, forked tongue was dancing behind a wicked array of sharp fangs. The surprise only lasted – only _mattered_ – for a split second before he was taking his hand out of the hole he’d made and sucking his blood-slicked fingers into his own mouth, licking up that intoxicating demonic nectar like a starving man. Kyo grinned, delighted, and slid back off of the bed to shuck out of his jeans and boxers. Die sat up and managed to get almost halfway out of his own pants before they were torn off of him entirely and the blonde was settling on top of him again, pressing a familiar, beloved knife into his right hand.

“Do what you want. Just don’t rip anything out ‘til the end,” the demon panted, harsh and excited in Die’s ear.

And Die obliged, eagerly. He sank the knife to the hilt into the blonde’s chest, the blade slipping between ribs to pierce through one heaving lung. Kyo’s echoing wail startled him badly, but the smaller body kept moving, kept grinding against him and grabbing at him with clawed fingers as blood bubbled up from both the wound and the mouth as the shredded lung flooded. The smell hit him, just as it had the first night – that sweet, thick sanguine delicacy – and he stabbed the blonde again and again, reveling in every choked grunt and halting cry Kyo issued in response. Blood poured out to spread between them, until they were both covered in rich, slick crimson and Die dropped the knife, lunging forward to lap up the messy treat, driving his tongue into the wounds he inflicted and sucking at them. Kyo gasped and grabbed onto Die’s hair, holding him against his chest in pure delight at the vicious treatment, a rattling growl creeping up his throat as he lost himself to pleasure.

It was too much, and not nearly enough. Die needed more. He grabbed at the demon on his lap, pulling and lifting and rocking up against it, seeking by feel alone in a position he’d never before taken in a desperate attempt to penetrate the brutalized body with his own. Kyo grunted impatiently and shoved him back, slamming him against the headboard, before reaching back to guide Die into place by hand. Die just kept thrusting, mindlessly, until he finally felt the entrance he sought and slammed up into it, his shuddering groan drowned out by Kyo’s pain-laced howl of delight.

They moved together then, in violent discord as Die fought to find rhythm in a body that moved and Kyo stoked constantly at the mortal’s bloodlust, driving him into frenzy. The bed creaked and groaned in protest until one of the legs finally snapped, pitching them sharply to one side and sliding them halfway down the red-stained mattress. Kyo let out a mad cackle between groans of pleasure, but Die was too far gone in his own madness to even notice the bizarre new angle, engrossed in sucking and chewing at the stab wounds on the demon’s chest and fighting constantly to get deeper into him. Still bloody, still heated constriction torn and force to yield to him, but now throbbing around him, bucking against him, clawing as if in the final desperate throes of death and it was so goddamn good he could scarcely breathe.

When Die felt the white-hot coil of rapture begin to tighten, deep in his belly, he remembered the prize he’d been promised and grabbed for his knife again, pushing up until they both overbalanced and went crashing off the dropped end of the bed. Kyo’s eyes rolled back into his head, too-long tongue lolling out in grotesque bliss as the blade sank into his belly once more, tearing through both his skin-suit and his own flesh to bear his innards to Die’s greedy whims. Die couldn’t even be bothered to search properly this time, grabbing handfuls of slick, squishy viscera and tearing it aside to get at what he wanted, his efforts made sloppier by his erratic rutting. The blonde gasped and choked, his powerful voice wavering and fading as his mouth filled with blood and his body was hollowed out, his motions slowing to a tense, agonized writhing. The muscles sporadically clamping down around his cock almost blinded Die with something that teetered wildly between pleasure and pain, and he let out a shuddering cry of victory as his hands closed around the demon’s heart.

With one vicious yank, he had the organ free of its cavity and between his teeth, and everything came crashing down around him. Kyo convulsed, then went limp beneath him, the intoxicating taste of demon flesh and blood splashed against his tongue, and he came so hard his vision went white and his mind shut down under the flood of pure ecstasy. By the time the world righted itself, half of the heart was gone, and his hips had slowed to shallow beating into the demon’s still body. Madness waned, he looked about himself slowly, taking in the gory mess that his bedroom had become. Then he looked down at the blonde he’d killed for the second time, taking in wolf-like gold eyes staring off into the distance and a snake’s tongue hanging out between crooked fangs. Streaks and beads of cum were spattered across the bloody chasm of his abdomen.

Dazed, Die pulled himself free of the demon corpse and staggered his way to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stepped in, heedless of the frigid water, and simply stood under the spray staring at blank white tile as Kyo’s blood sluiced off of him. He stood there for an untold amount of time; long enough for the water to get almost unbearably hot, and then to cool back down again. The sudden, jarring chime of his doorbell was what finally shook him out of his stupor.

Fumbling into his bathrobe, tying the belt with unsteady hands, he hurried out of his ruined bedroom to the front door of his apartment, peering out through the peephole. The sight of two crisp blue uniforms, with shiny silver badges predominantly displayed on chest pockets, made his heart shiver and freeze up with panic. His eyes rolled wildly back and forth, looking from the hall leading to his deeply-incriminating bedroom to the flimsy wooden panel standing between him and the police.

_‘Why are they here?!’_

_‘They know, it was all a trap, **they know!** ’_

_‘Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!’_

The doorbell rang again, and a muffled voice calling “Mr. Andou?” came through.

_‘Just… just act normal!’_

Swallowing and putting on his best mildly confused, nonchalant smile, Die opened the door a crack and peeked out. “Hello?”

“Mr. Andou?”

“Yes, sir?”

“We’re with the police department. We’ve received several calls regarding a possible domestic situation at this address.”

“O-Oh, really? That’s, uh… that’s strange. Maybe I just had the TV on too loud?”

“Your neighbors reported screaming and banging noises coming from your apartment. Is there anyone else in here with you, Mr. Andou?”

“Ahh… n-no, it’s just me, I live alone.”

“Do you mind if we take a look inside?”

_‘SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT!’_

_‘They’ll know something’s up if I refuse!’_

_‘THEY’LL KNOW SOMETHING’S UP IF THEY FIND A GODDAMN BODY IN THE BEDROOM!’_

_‘What do I do, **what the fuck do I do?!** ’_

_‘…The knife is still in the bedroom…’_

_‘…’_

“Umm… o-of course.”

Slowly, Die stepped aside to let the officers in. Belatedly, he remembered the mess he’d made of his apartment when he’d first come home, and he shifted awkwardly now as they surveyed his scattered belongings. It certainly looked like one hell of a domestic dispute had torn the place apart. His breathing went slow and shallow with anxiety as they walked carefully, deliberately through his home, peering into his kitchen, his study, making their way down the hall to the room that Die had left absolutely covered in blood and guts. They came to a stop in the bedroom doorway, someone gasped, and Die braced himself, ready to bulrush the officers in a desperate bid to maintain his freedom.

“Oh! Um… h-hi!”

The light voice coming from the bedroom startled Die, and he sidled in behind the policemen to peek between them. Kyo was standing at the foot of the ruined bed, clean and unharmed and, by all appearances, perfectly human. All of the blood and gore was gone from the floor, the bed, everything, as if the whole thing had never happened. He was wearing one of Die’s oversized tee-shirts, tugging the front hem down to hide his crotch with a sweet, modest blush staining his cheeks, staring at the police with nervous brown eyes. The perfect picture of flustered, innocent embarrassment, caught in a moment of impropriety.

The officer that had been doing all the speaking up to this point looked decidedly uncomfortable, so his partner spoke up this time. “Young man, are you alright? The neighbors said it sounded like someone was being killed in here.”

“Oh, gosh!” Die just stared, utterly dumbfounded, as Kyo wrinkled his nose and ducked his head apologetically. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be so loud, it was just… we were… well, _you_ _know_ , and… ahhh… oh jeez, how embarrassing…”

“You’re not hurt at all? Were you two fighting?”

Kyo gave a sheepish grin, blush deepening. “No, not fighting…”

The first officer made a soft noise of disgust and turned to leave, and the second just smiled awkwardly. “Alright. Just, uh… try to be a little quieter next time, huh? We don’t want to get called out here every time you two’s… _activities_ disturb the neighborhood.”

Kyo bit his lip shyly and nodded. “Yes, sir. Sorry…”

The officer turned to Die, mildly amused. “We’ll let you off with a warning, since this is your first offense, but if we get another noise complaint from this address, you will be fined. Understood?”

Die just nodded dumbly, watching as the officers scanned the place once more just to be sure no one was hurt, then made their way out of the apartment. The front door opened and shut again, and Die let out a breath that felt like he’d been holding it the whole time. When he looked back into the bedroom, Kyo had shed both Die’s shirt and his innocent demeanor, tugging his jeans back into place and buttoning up the fly calmly.

“What… what just…?” Die stuttered, completely lost.

Kyo crossed the room with a confident stride and, before Die knew what was happening, grabbed the brunette by the back of the neck and dragged him down, sharp fangs coming to rest terrifyingly close to his jugular. Die froze up, eyes widening at the sudden anticipation of his throat being ripped out and time lost all meaning or perspective in that fragile moment when he realized his own death was at hand. Then the hand’s vice grip loosened, and the fangs were replaced by a teasing flick of that forked tongue.

“Nah, you’re too much fun. I think I’ll play with you a little more before I eat you,” Kyo murmured, grinning.

The blonde let go, then, grabbing Die’s hand instead and dragging one sharp claw across his palm. Die yelped and tried to yank his hand free, but the demon held fast, letting his blood drip onto the half-dried patch of skin that was to be the trophy from their first coupling. The taller man watched as the tattooed bit of hide soaked up his blood, returning to its original texture before Kyo pressed it over the hole in its abdomen. It promptly sealed itself back into place, and it was as though Die’s knife had never once touched the blonde. Running one fond finger over his returned tiger tattoo, Kyo picked up his shirt from where he’d left it on the bedroom floor and finished dressing under Die’s shell-shocked gaze.

The demon moved to leave then, pausing for a moment to press his hand against Die’s chest, eyes flashing wolf-gold as they glanced up to meet the human's. “You’ve tasted of my flesh, mortal, not once now but twice, and until all that you’ve taken is returned, we are bound together. One day, when your madness ceases to please and amuse me, I will feast upon your body; shred your flesh between my teeth, drink your blood, and suck the very marrow from your bones. I won’t share you with my brother, but keep you all to myself, and _gorge_ myself on you. On that day, my lion, I will save your heart for last, and I promise I will savor every last bite of it.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally just going to be the second chapter, and that's it! But that was... a bit too much for me ^_^; I love ghost stories and myths and folklore, so they periodically surface in a lot of my stories, but I tweak the vast majority of them to suit my needs. I found the Amano Jaku at the Obakemono Project (http://www.obakemono.com/obake/amanojaku/) and it just fit perfectly to what I wanted to do. Anyways, congratulations for making it through the whole thing!


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